The Devil's Backbone
by ragabeubeu
Summary: Skye and Ward, both caught in a game of mouse and cat, uncertain whether they want to escape each other or give into their desires.


'_I am not a good man, Skye_.'

There's something about these words that makes it all she can think about, while Fitz-Simmons sit by the pool, and she's left alone in the motel room the team rented for the night.

There's something about these words that sounded too genuine… and too knowing.

Skye isn't a stupid girl, and in her years, she's dated more than once men who had that look in their eyes – secret desires; hidden agendas; there's always something they want. But this time…

He's not really different from any of them; since the day she was born, Skye started in on a game where everybody is in for something, and it's up to chance to decide who will get what they want. Skye used to be very good at getting what she wants. She used to be so good at this game.

No sentiment. No strings attached.

Until there came those dark eyes and the flash of a smirk, and suddenly she found herself playing a completely different game.

Kiss him before he doubts you. Shoot him before he kills you.

Still the same golden rule.

Takers keepers.

…

At twenty-two years old, Skye grew into what she likes to think of as a strong and confident woman, with just enough innocent looks to take the enemy by surprise – but that wasn't always the case; and Skye wasn't always the name. Back when people still called her Mary, around her teenager years, she wasn't nearly as confident as she is now. She wasn't nearly as strong. The orphanage sent her to so many homes she ultimately stopped counting; oh yes, she's seen them all, from the welcoming smiling faces to the not so faithful husbands with wandering hands, and she's come to grow used to taking care of herself.

The orphanage is the only place she always came back to – up to the age of eighteen that is, and then she was finally tossed into the world and left to depend on no one. Maybe teenage-Mary wasn't as tough as grownup-Skye, but neither ever needed to rely on anyone. And when her eighteenth birthday came, it was a relief. Because she was finally going to be alone. Because she was done hoping there was any more she could do to please the homes, or the orphanage. She wouldn't need to pretend to be anyone else other than her, and no one would influence her to decide who that would be.

She didn't keep the name Mary for a week longer.

Up till now, she couldn't tell you exactly how she went from unemployed orphan to professional hacker, but she believed it happened smoothly – it was because of that guy she dated, one whose technique lacked of imagination, but he had enough skills. He taught her one or two things to impress her, and from that it escalated… it was all still part of a game; he thought he was playing for her, and ended up getting played. Everything was part of a game. Her loner's game.

Men came and went, some lasted longer than others, but in the end, it was still only Skye, her computer, and her van. She didn't ever complain, in fact, she liked this wandering life; until men in black forced open her door, and took her to a secret place.

A very magical place.

One minute, she was airing a speech on the radio, and the next she was in an interrogation room, trapped between two men in black – one of them very dark. Truly very, very dark. Well, damn. She'd worked on that speech. Then next thing she knew, a man in black pulled out a syringe, filled with a truth serum, and used it on his partner – pleasant surprise made its way in, and it was her turn to grin…

Until she was told that S.H.I.E.L.D didn't own a truth serum, she really couldn't tell you who was playing the other that day.

Now, when it comes to Agent Ward, she's stopped marking the scores.

…

_I am not a good man, Skye._

Now she thinks about it, and she'd like to say that part of her knew. She'd like to say she heard him speak these words, and something inside of her twitched. She'd like to say that something awoke, and as she stared into those dark, dark eyes, she half realized that she was staring at the enemy. Hydra.

Four years went by since she changed her name to Skye, and now she wonders if she's not just as naïve as this angel-face led on, the one that fooled so many, and so easily. Skye used to be very good at playing her own game. She used to be very good at making up the rules.

Until there came a handsome face and an electrifying touch, and it turns out his true face wasn't nearly as charming as its cover. It's the kind of trick that really shouldn't have fooled her. It's one of _her_ tricks, and she fell in her own trap. Down to the very last moment, when he stole that kiss from her, she still thought she made the rules. But he was no longer playing her game.

_I am not a good man, Skye. _

And truth is, when he said it, the thought that he spoke the truth didn't even cross her mind. The only thought that did was she knew what he meant – she knew.

When those family men climbed up the stairs to her bedroom at night, she wished she could fight them, too. Weeks training and waking up early in the morning, hoping that she could be stronger, but it didn't mean she couldn't remember the need to bathe the bedcovers and the whole house in kerosene, then it watch it all burn out. She knew what it felt like. She knows what it feels like. And during the time she spent as Coulson's protégée, Agent Ward has been the living representation of the strength she would like to own. He's been everything she hoped to become.

Now, sitting in that hotel room, looking at his picture on Most Wanted's website, she closes her eyes in hate. She couldn't tell you who she hates most; the one who fooled, or the one who's been fooled. Because she listened to his confession, but didn't hear the obvious; because she looked at his angel mask for months, but never thought it might come down.

Because she had a chance to kill him, but instead, she let him win. She failed her own rules.

He lies, and he lies, and she hates that she let this mouth set on her lips. She hates that she was moved at his liar's pledge, she hates that she let him get to her, and thought that for a second, he understood her fears; he understood her shame.

And she thinks, one day, she'll tell him.

_Let's see how you like the taste of betrayal, honey. Bitter, don't you think? _

Skye opens her eyes, and the world awakens again; Fitz and Simmons are outside the window, but right now, it's only her, a temporary home, and her computer again.

_Hope, darling, is for the fools. _

…

Agent Grant Douglas Ward isn't a good man at all. In his own years, he's fooled more foolish girls than he can count or remember; but there's something about this one girl that's different; something that's… better.

After a few weeks only, it was easy for Grant Ward to come to the conclusion that Skye isn't at all like most girls he knew. She doesn't look at him with blind awe; she doesn't let his authoritative orders impress her. There's something about her that's sparkly, spicy. She's got a gorgeous face as soft as a kitten's, but what's inside is not nearly as kind – he was quite certain of that, when she turned him in to the cops.

Oh well. A kitten that scratches.

And that's what lingers longer on his mind, as he lies on his bunk, and waits for orders. She fooled him. Maybe not as long as he fooled her, nor as deeply, but she did; she fooled him.

When he closes his eyes, her words are all he can think about.

'_Would you tell him he's a liar? Would you tell him he's a rotten, back-stabbing traitor?'_

Ward exhales deeply, and thinks that after all, he shouldn't have been surprise. There was always this fiery strength in her eyes, a blaze that said maybe he could force her to play his game, but not without getting played, too.

There've been many years, and many women, Skye isn't the first, but what's surprising is, she's the first that doesn't go out of his mind as easily as out of his sight.

She's like a thorn that's gotten under his skin. A thorn made of tears and warmth.

She's something new, that's about right, and he's got utterly no idea what to do with her. She's like an itch, one he's not sure he should leave alone or scratch.

He's not certain whether he should fight those feelings, or yield.

Oh _well_. Everyone's got to have a guilty pleasure. Maybe he'll just take what he wants, and awaken something in her.

It's still by the rules.

Takers keepers.


End file.
